Wheaton Quarterly» Trish Clark Ryan ’91http://wheatoncollege.edu/quarterly
Thu, 03 Nov 2016 14:21:52 +0000en-UShourly1http://wordpress.org/?v=3.9.1It’s a hoothttp://wheatoncollege.edu/quarterly/2014/02/07/hoot/
http://wheatoncollege.edu/quarterly/2014/02/07/hoot/#respondFri, 07 Feb 2014 07:05:34 +0000http://wheatoncollege.edu/quarterly/?p=9081I spent Saturday, Oct., 26, 2013, at the Wheaton Alumnae/i Leadership Conference, soaking in the gorgeous foliage (Wheaton is smart to have us return to campus in October rather than February), and connecting with new and old friends. I’d forgotten how good it feels to get together based on this one shared facet of our life experiences.

One of my favorite moments was in a social media workshop (I’m the social media chair for my class), where Molly Galler from the Class of 2006 did a great job explaining Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and WordPress to a group of older alums. The take-homes for me:

First, how Wheaton is a place I find mentors, even now. Each time I return, I’m reminded by other alums how part of being a Wheaton grad is having an ability to think, grow and expand your horizons. Not that graduates of other schools don’t have this, too—it’s just such a focus at Wheaton that after four years of immersion, it’s sort of in you in a way most of us don’t shake, even after graduation.

Returning to campus stirs that back up in a way that’s really helpful. How often do you get to go to a place where people tell you both that you’re doing great where you are and that you can accomplish something bigger or new or other if you want to? That’s a powerful combination.

I love how our older alums resist the temptation of, “Oh, that’s for the younger folks. …” They’re willing to be beginners, ask questions, and try things. I suspect this is the work-around for midlife crises: staying engaged and interested, being willing to be the only one in the room who admits you don’t get it yet, but that you’re going to. I’m grateful for this annual reminder that as life keeps getting bigger, I can grow with it.

The second thing that made my day was this one alum— I think she’s in the Class of 1977—describing how a couple of hours earlier, she’d posted her first picture to her new Facebook page, and had already seen two or three friends respond online. “It’s just a hoot!” she said.

At first I just giggled the way you sometimes do when someone uses an expression that’s no longer common. But then later that afternoon I thought about my own first experience years ago, figuring out how to get a picture to appear on my Facebook page, picking a funny caption, and then watching over the course of that day as friends from all over the country responded. It was a hoot!

Once in a while (read: way more often), I need to step back from all these things that are now “normal” parts of our lives and marvel at them for a moment. It’s incredible, what we’ve learned and adapted to. And as much as naysayers love to prattle on about how awful screen time is and how online friendships can’t replace connecting in real life over coffee, I’m feeling the urge to celebrate what networks like Facebook and Twitter (not to mention my new obsession, Happier) make possible.

Thanks to those, I’m connected with you all, and I enjoy more support, connection, camaraderie and friendship than any other time in my life. The likelihood that I’ll remember anyone’s birthday has gone up 100 percent (I’ve never been great with dates), and, over the course of a typical day, I get to interact and catch up with great people, and build relationships across a far wider slice of life than I could pull off via connecting in real life over coffee, no matter how many miles I traveled (or how much caffeine I could hold).

As a memoir writer, I love how we’re all building our stories online, one post at a time. It’s a hoot, and I’m grateful for the reminder.

Trish Clark Ryan ’91, who majored in political science, has a law degree from Villanova University School of Law, and is an author and blogger. Her website is at trishryanauthor.com.

Sophomore year, I auditioned for the Wheaton Dance Company, and made it. The first day of rehearsal, our director, Cheryl Mrozowski, lined us up along the back of the room and led us through a ballet barre. I’d heard of barre before—it involved things like knee bends and going up on your toes. I was sure I’d be fine.

I was wrong. Barre was the worst thing that had happened to my 19-year-old body. By the end of the first week, I looked like I’d been in a car accident, with bruises all over my legs, hands and (inexplicably) torso. There was this one move—frappéit’s called—which in the rest of life means “yummy cold beverage,” but in ballet terms means “kick yourself repeatedly, as fast as you can, until the music ends.” I flapped and flailed. But these embarrassing times at the barre didn’t make me want to quit dance —they made me want to conquer it.

By senior year, I could get through a barre with minimal bodily harm. I choreographed a piece inspired by my senior thesis research on federal sentencing guidelines and standards in American prisons, and received one of the first academic credits Wheaton awarded for dance. And when Cheryl invited a guest choreographer from the Dance Theatre of Harlem to teach the Wheaton Dance Company a ballet piece, I was chosen as part of the ensemble. I was relegated to the back row within 15 minutes at our first rehearsal, but I was there.

This experience taught me that it’s really hard to learn something new and foreign, but it’s worth the effort.

Fifteen years later, I didn’t need a gym credit; I needed a new career. I’d worked as a lawyer, tried a few other things, but hadn’t found the right fit. Along the way, I’d had a series of unlikely adventures in my struggle to figure out life and love. I thought they might make a good book, a story with ups and downs and a real happy ending. And I’d always been pretty good at writing.

“Don’t even bother,” everyone told me. “Publishing is an insider’s game.” One friend said to my husband, “You need to talk to Trish. It’s not like people just write books and get them published. She should be more realistic.”

But I’d walk through bookstores and think, “Well, some people get published, why not me?”

So I went to work. I studied the publishing industry and read blogs by agents and editors. I looked at how my favorite authors constructed scenes. I wrote and rewrote, admitting embarrassing anecdotes and reliving past relationships.

After months of writing, I sent a query letter to an agent, describing my story. Earlier that week, she’d had lunch with an editor who’d said, “I’m looking for something like Eat, Pray, Love, only Jesus-ey….” That was my book.

Two years later, He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not: A Memoir of Faith, Hope and Happily Ever After hit bookstore shelves. On a visit to Wheaton I found a copy in the Old Town Hall bookstore—a fun treat, as so many moments in the story take place on campus.

Today, I have two published books, a novel in progress, and a speaking and consulting business helping others tell great stories. I’m grateful for what I learned at Wheaton, toughing out all those long afternoons of ballet, challenging myself to go after something that seemed impossible rather than giving up.

Trish Clark Ryan ’91, who majored in political science, has a law degree from Villanova University School of Law. She was invited to campus as an Evelyn Danzig Haas ’39 Visiting Artist this fall to teach novel writing to current students. She lives in Cambridge, Mass., and speaks at events across the country on writing, leadership and faith.